The Girl in the Mirror
by ThatGuyRex
Summary: A fic based on the musical 'Wicked', centering around Nessarose. Who exactly is the girl in the mirror? Please read the author's note before beginning the story. COMPLETED.
1. Celebration

  
  
Author's Notes: Ok, I gotta brief you on this. First of all, if you have not seen the musical, and do not want some of the plot spoiled for you, stop reading right now! This fic will definitely give away some of the story.  
  
This story is based entirely and completely on Wicked the musical. You don't see much of Nessarose after the song 'The Wicked Witch of the East', and she's got to go through at least something before the... unfortunate event. So I'll warn you that a lot of this story will come from my imagination, since the musical skimps on details a bit. If I seem to get too far out there, yell at me and I'll fix it. :-)  
  
Enjoy the story!  
  
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**"Alone and loveless here, just the girl in the mirror..."**  
  
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Nessa's heart feels like it is about to work out of her chest. The thought that she at least _has_ one floats through her mind, but she pushes it away irritably. She stares at the door, the one that Boq had just ran out of.  
  
"Boq!" She calls, one more time, uselessly hoping that he was still close enough to hear her - and that he would respond. She sits down in the wheelchair, heavily. She doesn't need it any more, but the feel of the large chair surrounding her brings some much needed comfort.  
  
Why had she told Boq that Elphaba had done it? She sighs. Essentially, Elphaba had been the one to turn him to tin, but she would never have had to if it wasn't for Nessa. As these thoughts run through her mind, a tear slips down her cheek. All she had wanted was for Boq to love her... and now he probably hated her. Sure, he was still alive, but now he was lost to her forever.  
  
She wipes away the single tear. It was strange, how her emotions always seemed to take hold of her with such strength, but she hardly ever cried. Really cried, with puddles of tears and ragged sobs and that feeling of pure exhaustion that seemed to follow the pouring out of one's soul.  
  
As she sits in the wheelchair, silently reflecting, one sentence swims up in her consciousness and plays in her ears.  
  
"You and your sister! She's as wicked as you are!"  
  
Boq's voice rings out, full of disgust, so clearly that she looks over at the door before realizing that it's only her memory. She smiles stonily, at her own foolishness, but the smile fades as she remembers how he had looked at her... with such repugnance. Even after his features had turned to tin, she could see it there.  
  
As her mind continues down that track, she finds a spot of cold anger beginning to bubble up in her chest. Elphaba. Why couldn't she have just stayed in hiding, rescuing her precious Animals? If she hadn't come back, things could have kept going as they were. She would have been just as happy carrying on with the facade, pretending that Boq was with her out of his own free will and not because she was the Governess. The cold feeling spreads to her throat as she realizes that she would have stayed wheelchair-bound if it would keep Boq with her. As it is, she knows that she will do anything to get him back. He obviously can't have any hope of winning over Glinda now. Now that he looked the way he did. She thinks they could make the perfect pair, herself and Boq. Both of them are imperfect, flawed.  
  
She remembers looking at flawed gemstones once, as a girl. Some of them had hairline cracks running through them, some had strange, off-colour spots deep inside them. She wonders, if she could look, what she might find deep inside herself. Maybe she is green inside. Something has to explain the feelings she has...  
  
Nessa's thoughts are broken as the butler steps into the doorway. "Madam Governor?" The munchkin servant says. Nessa turns to him. Is that a hint of fear she can detect in his eye? She wonders what the servants thought when they witnessed a man made out of tin storm out of the house.  
  
"Yes?" She replies, remaining in her seat. She turns her dark eyes on him, and the corner of her mouth twitches up as he seems to squirm, just a little.  
  
"Sh - Shall I take you d - down to dinner, now?" Nessa's eyes grow more alert. There was a definite stutter in the butler's voice. Of course! Wheeling Nessa around had always been Boq's job. The butler must fear for his own... appearance. It's time to end the facade.  
  
Nessa stands up. "No, I will take myself." She says coldly, enjoying the how the shock spreads across the butler's face as she passes him in the doorway and begins to descend the stairs.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Boq, or Nessa. I'm really liking this chance to explore her character, though. :-)  
  
I wrote this chapter in present tense. Will I ever learn? :-p  
  
Thanks for reading,  
Love,  
B 


	2. Exploration

  
  
AN: _-giggles-_ Some of you thought this wasn't being continued! Guess I'd better bring back out the cliffies. ;-)  
  
Yay, the document manager is back up! I was trying to upload this all day! _-hugs her computer-_  
  
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**"Alone and loveless here, just the girl in the mirror..."**  
  
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Nessa is aware of the butler's eye boring into her back as she reaches the top of the stairs. She pauses. Perhaps she should just take the lift? After a moment, she discards the thought. She can walk now, and if it was up to her, she would never take another lift as long as she lives. She lifts her left leg, lowering it down to the first stair. So far, so good. She grips the bannister tightly, bringing her right leg down to the stair below it. The complicated movement of her knees, and the feeling of the muscles tensing in her calf and thigh as she keeps her balance brings a smile to her face. Slowly at first, and then faster, Nessa descends the stairs to the main floor.  
  
She enters the dining room to more shocked faces, the cook and the maids are waiting to serve her. As she meets their gaze, each woman drops her eyes. Nessa rounds the large, oaken table, and takes a seat at her father's place - no, it is her place now, the head of the table. She leans back in her seat as the women begin to serve her. Funny, she thinks, how all her life she had been waited on by other people, and only now that she can walk does she notice the difference between doing something for one's self, and having someone else do it.  
  
The servants withdraw into the kitchen as Nessa begins to eat her dinner. The sound of silverware hitting china echoes through the large, empty dining room. So many rooms in the old house echo. In a way, Nessa feels like she does, too. Something had been missing her whole life. She had thought it was just the ability to walk, but now that she has that, she knows it must be something else.  
  
Nessarose finishes her dinner, leaving the potatoes - they were undercooked again - and she picks up her glass of water, to take out to the garden. She enjoys the novelty of being able to carry something in her hands and walk at the same time, as she moves through the dining room and out into the hall. As she reaches the door, she can see the servants from the corner of her eye, coming out of the kitchen to tidy the room. She can also feel every last one of their eyes on her.  
  
Out in the garden, she passes the gardener, tending to the rosebushes her father had prized so. The elderly servant is nearly deaf, and the garden is usually all that receives his attention. As Nessa walks by, at her newfound brisk pace, he raises his eyes and brings a hand to rub his forehead.  
  
Finally, Nessa reaches her favourite place. The rosebush path opens to a small, circular grassy area, hedged in, with a wooden gazebo in the center. She takes a seat on one of the benches around the inside of the structure, marvelling at how much bigger it seems when not filled up by her bulky chair.  
  
She places her half-empty glass on the bench next to her, and begins reflecting silently on the servants' reaction to her new mobility. All of them had stared, the wide-eyed look of disbelief, but no one had come forward to celebrate with her, to congratulate her. She was left to discover all the joys of this gift on her own.  
  
It is only a slightly modified version of the feeling she has had all her life. She had always felt different. Like the whole world was facing in one direction, and she was looking the other way. It had always been difficult to connect with people - the chair would get in the way. People had always seen 'the girl in the chair', and not herself: the daughter of the governor of Munchkinland; alumna of Shiz University; a pretty girl who likes to read and has a talent for art. There is so much that people don't understand about her, because they never take the time to see beyond her limitations. Nessarose sighs as she realizes that she doesn't know how to connect with other people.  
  
She breaks off her train of thought, looking around for something to disperse her dark mood. The evening sun slips out from behind a cloud, making the small garden glow with an orange light. Her gaze falls on the lawn, perfectly maintained. It looks so soft, and inviting. She has always wanted to walk barefoot in the grass. She wonders if she will be able to walk with the shoes off.  
  
Leaving her water glass on the bench, Nessa climbs out of the gazebo and sits down on the lawn. She might not be able to walk on the grass, but just this once, she is going to feel it against her bare feet. She takes a moment to admire her shoes, the orange sun making the red jewels sparkle. Drawing her knee up to her chest, she tries to slip one finger into the shoe, near her heel. The shoes seem to close up tight, as hard as she tries she cannot get a finger inside. She grabs the sole of her left shoe, and tugs on it, trying to wrench it from her foot, but it doesn't budge. She begins to notice an uncomfortable sensation. The shoes... they're getting tighter on her feet. She begins to pull more frantically at them, but this only seems to make them squeeze tighter.  
  
"Oh!" A surprised exclamation slips from her lips as the shoes grow tighter still. An ache begins in her toes and spread to her heels, and up her ankles as the shoes continue squeezing her feet like a vise...  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Boq, or Nessa. I'm really liking this chance to explore her character, though. :-)  
  
There's a cliffy for you. Aren't I wicked? ;-)  
  
Thanks for reading,  
Love,  
B 


	3. Desperation

  
  
AN: I thought Nessa's shoes turned red from Elphaba's spell? Meep... well, I'm not mentioning the colour again, so I'll leave it for now.  
  
This chapter also contains spoilers.  
  
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**"Alone and loveless here, just the girl in the mirror..."**  
  
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The shoes squeeze tighter and tighter as Nessa frantically tries to pull them off. She can feel the pressure on the very bones of her feet. Tiny fingers of pain shoot up her legs from the force on her ankles.  
  
Finally, with a low moan, Nessa gives in to the pain and presses her hands over her face, trying to ride it out. Strangely enough, the moment she stops struggling to get the shoes off, they stop squeezing. Nessa lies on her back in the grass, her breathing ragged, her feet throbbing. She closes her eyes, dizzy with the aftermath of panic. Minutes pass, then half an hour, as she wills her feet to stop hurting, her heart to slow down, her breathing to even out.  
  
"Okay." She pants, staring at the sky. "I can't take off my shoes." The sheer absurdity of the sentence makes her giggle, and she can feel a small, bright bubble of hysteria forming in her chest. She gives herself over to helpless laughter for a moment, her emotions playing havoc with her body as she realizes her escape from a dire situation. Finally, gradually, her calm composure returns and she climbs shakily to her feet. She limps carefully back down the garden path to the house, her feet protesting each step with sharp needles of pain.  
  
Ignoring curious looks from the servants, Nessa limps to her bedroom, and into the adjoining bath. As she turns her gaze on the wall mirror, she has to bite her lip to keep from breaking out into giggles again. Her face is flushed and sweaty, with tear stains running down her cheeks. Her hair is coming loose from its elegant bun, and here and there are pieces of grass, green threads in her dark hair.  
  
Nessa runs warm water into the sink and begins to wash her face. The soft washcloth is soothing, and does much to calm her down. Drying herself, she pulls the pins from her hair and picks up her hairbrush. As she raises the brush to her hair, however, realization falls like a stone into her stomach.  
  
Boq was always the one who brushed her hair.  
  
Suddenly feeling heavier, Nessa backs up from the mirror and sits in the chair in the corner of the room. When she couldn't do things for herself, she could always count on Boq to be at her side, willingly or not. Now that she is independant, she is alone.  
  
Nessa stands, and moves into the bedroom, still holding the brush. Her footsteps echo through the big empty room, and she thinks of the big, empty house full of servants who didn't talk to her and memories of everyone who had gone and left her... Boq, Elphaba, her father.  
  
Nessa throws herself face down on the bed, like an adolescent, and cries.  
  
She is alone. Horribly, frighteningly, brutally alone.  
  
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The image will burn behind Glinda's eyelids for a long time to come. Fiyero and Elphaba. Together. She can still feel the muzzle of his gun poking her in the back. His gun! Fiyero had held a gun to her back. The thoughts jumble up in her mind, she can't even begin to sort out what had happened. One moment she is at the middle of a wonderful social circle, engaged to the captain of the guard, and the next moment he runs off... with Elphaba.  
  
The feelings inside her froth and pitch. She leans against the wall, trying to sort out her mind. Maybe she can return to the party. A corner of her awareness records Madame Morrible and the Wizard conversing in hushed tones. About how to catch Elphaba. Her friend, who had first stolen herself away, and now she has stolen Fiyero away, too. The two most important people in Glinda's world, though she may rarely show it.  
  
A hint of anger rises out of the jumbled mix of emotions in her chest, quickening her breathing. She has to find where Elphaba is hiding. If she can find Elphaba, she can find Fiyero. She can talk some sense into that brainless head of his. How deeply will Elphaba hide away? So deeply that no one will know where to find her? Glinda knows of one person that Elphaba would not be able to bear leaving without company.  
  
"How can we force her to show herself?" The Wizard's voice seems to float over to Glinda from a great distance. The anger pulls itself back into the tight ball in her chest, and a numb feeling settles over her.  
  
"Her sister." Glinda hardly feels the words that are coming from her mouth. Dimly, she is aware of the Wizard and Madame Morrible, silent now, their greedy eyes boring into her.  
  
"Use her sister. Spread a rumor. Make her think her sister is in trouble. Then she'll fly to her side, and you'll have her." The throne room seems dark and forbidding. Glinda feels like the words are coming from somewhere else. The Wizard and Morrible start conversing again, and Glinda, attempting a gracious wave, steps away from the wall.  
  
"Now your Ozness, if you'll excuse me, I have a slight headache. I think I'll lie down." She says to the pair as she exits, but it is not her head that aches.  
  
It is her whole being.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Boq, or Nessa. I'm really liking this chance to explore her character, though. :-)  
  
I just had to revisit Glinda for a bit in this chapter. -_sigh_- I miss her!  
  
Thank you for your feedback and reviews! They are greatly appreciated.  
  
Thanks for reading,  
Love,  
B 


	4. Determination

  
  
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**"Alone and loveless here, just the girl in the mirror..."**  
  
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_"Daddy!" Little Nessa's voice rings out down the hallway, soft and plaintive in the quiet of the night. "Daddy!"  
  
The noise brings Frex hurrying down the hall, and Elphaba peeks her green head out of her bedroom. She steps into the hall behind her father as he slips into Nessa's room. He moves to her bedside. Little Nessa is lying tangled in the bedsheets, her face flushed. Frex brushes the hair from his daughter's forehead and whispers to her. "What is it, precious?"  
  
"Daddy." Nessa's eyes are teary, her voice tight. "My legs hurt."  
  
Elphaba rolls her eyes and ducks back into the bedroom. Nessa couldn't feel anything in her legs. It was probably just another plea for attention. Besides, her father could handle it.  
  
Frex kneels down beside the bed, folding back Nessa's blankets. Nessa shivers as the sudden air touches her bare arms, and she tucks them into her nightgown. Her father sits gently on the edge of the bed, and slowly rubs her legs. Nessa can't feel the touch, but even just the closeness of her father soothes her. The strangeness and fear of waking up in the middle of the night disappears, and she can feel all but the last remnants of bad dreams fade away.  
  
She closes her eyes, listening to the pulse in her ears and the sound of her father shifting on the bed. A moment later, she feels her father's hand on her forehead. "A fever." He mutters, softly, and she opens her eyes to see his concerned face looming above hers. She shivers, and he replaces the covers. "Just close your eyes, Little Nessa." He says, his face seeming to grow in the dim light until it is all she can see. She obliges, and she can feel the soft brush of his lips on her hot forehead as she drifts back into the land of dreams.  
  
_ ------------------------------  
  
Nessa raises her head from the bedspread, sucking a breath of fresh air in through her lips. She wills her breathing to even out. Rolling over on her back, she brings a hand up to wipe her eyes irritably. "My legs hurt." The words come from her lips, but they repeat in her mind in a high, childish voice. An echo of the past. Lowering her head to the pillow, she closes her eyes as she realizes that they really do hurt, and this time there is no one around to make it better. Tears threaten to spill from under her eyelids as she thinks of her father, always gentle to her but at the same time, fiercely protective.  
  
She thinks of Boq, the sweet munchkin boy who reminded her, in some way, of Frex. She could see the same type of patient devotion in her father's eyes that she saw in Boq's... when he looked at Glinda. The pretty, perky blonde woman who was everything that Nessa wasn't. Glinda has a sort of magnetism that draws people to her. Nessa feels like she has the opposite. Something about her sends out a vibe that keeps people from getting close.  
  
Finally, Nessa's thoughts move to Elphaba, and something twists painfully inside her. Elphaba had swept into her world like a summer storm and had taken away everything that was important to her. Because of Elphaba, she is alone.  
  
_Because of Elphaba, you can walk._ The child's voice inside her calls out, but the voice is too weak, Nessarose doesn't hear it. Instead, her anger builds into a hard, cold ball that smothers the child and turns it into something else, bitterly sharp and icy.  
  
_Stop the stupid crying._ The new voice says, and Nessarose sits up. Her motions more deliberate now, she wipes the tears from her face and smooths down her hair. Standing, she ignores the needles of pain in her legs and walks briskly to the doorway. Her face is hard, set, determined.  
  
She has a county to run.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Boq, Glinda, Frex, Elphaba or Nessa. I sure wish I did, though.  
  
Thank you to nancystagerat and sweet saturn for not minding my e-mails, and a huge thanks to Heather, Kyla and Shilo for the chat session that actually got this chapter written! Woo hoo!  
  
Thanks for reading,  
Love,  
B 


	5. Devastation

  
  
AN: I'm going to take some liberties here, don't hurt me.  
  
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**"Alone and loveless here, just the girl in the mirror..."**  
  
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Morrible watches Glinda leave the room, a sly gleam in her eye. The little blonde thing wouldn't go around spouting stories of the Wicked Witch and the captain of the guard running off together. It would be bad for her pretty little pink image. As soon as she is finished here, she'll find Glinda and make sure she gets her story straight.  
  
After a moment, Morrible turns her gaze to meet the Wizard's, her eyes sharp, the corner of her mouth drawn up in a crooked, conniving smile. "A rumour wouldn't do it. Elphaba is too smart for that." She says in a low, conspiratorial tone. The wheels in her brain are turning. Her cunning mind latches on to Glinda's suggestion, spinning it darker still.  
  
"What can we do?" The Wizard asks. Morrible turns her gaze on the small, white-haired man. The small, powerless man that had seized control of an entire country with carefully chosen, wonderfully ensnaring speeches. The crafty, little man that had taken her into his confidence and was slowly allowing her more and more power.  
  
Morrible smiles. The expression slides catlike across her face. It is a smile of absolute certainty. She knows how to get the Witch. Yes, she knows exactly how to draw out Elphaba. "Perhaps... a change in the weather." She says, her voice echoing off the walls of the chamber. With a flick of her finger, clouds gather in the sky outside. A distant rumble of thunder brings a glitter to her eye. With a gleeful laugh, she claps the Wizard on the shoulder, and hurries to find Glinda.  
  
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Glinda has never felt so numb in her life. A small, detached part of her wonders at it, the complete lack of pain. She had expected to be broken, torn down into little tiny pieces of herself. She had expected to bawl, wail at the sky, at fate for taunting her so. Instead she just feels numb.  
  
She finds herself heading out into a courtyard, and settles herself into a seat on a small, black iron bench. It was not made for comfort, and most certainly isn't her normal choice of resting place. The iron is cold, and hard. The cold seeps through her voluminous dress and into her skin, her bones, and finally comes to settle in her heart, forming a small, frigid ball.  
  
The pain starts then, small sharp stabs that eat at her. She is aware of the tears running down her face. The detached piece of her worries idly about the state of her makeup, but the tears continue, unchecked. Time passes. Glinda isn't sure if it is minutes, or even hours, but eventually, she is aware of a figure striding towards her.  
  
She straightens up, and brings a hand up to wipe her eyes. _You'll smear your mascara,_ the distant piece of her says, but she dries her eyes the best she can, anyway. As the figure draws nearer, she recognizes Madame Morrible. She thinks back to the conversation with Morrible in the palace. About how to catch Elphaba. About using Nessa. She looks at Morrible again, feeling as if she was struck. Maybe it is part of her distress, but she can suddenly see the woman through a new light. She can suddenly see the depth of what this woman is capable of, and it frightens her. She worries for Nessa for a moment, but the remote part of her reminds her of her own distress and she closes her eyes in pain.  
  
When she reopens them, Morrible is standing before her, looking down at her, sternly. Glinda feels like she is back at Shiz, an impressionable schoolgirl being intimidated by the headmistress.  
  
"Now, Glinda." Morrible says, her voice smooth. A hint of sympathy, no matter how manufactured, strikes a chord in Glinda, and she latches on, desperate for some form of comfort. Morrible sits down next to the blonde woman, on the bench. "We'll have a little talk, dear, and then return to the party, hmm?"  
  
As Morrible continues, Glinda hears the distant rumble of thunder. It echoes the rumble of her empty heart.  
  
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AN: I do not own Wicked, Morrible, the Wizard, or Glinda. I sure wish I did, though. This fic is for fun and not for profit, la la la, you know the rest.  
  
Thank you to my sister Heather, for beta-ing and putting up with me messaging her every two minutes to ask if Morrible was evil enough. Thank you also to everyone following/reviewing this fic. Without you guys, it wouldn't be here.  
  
Thanks for reading,  
Love,  
B 


	6. Obliteration

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**"Alone and loveless here, just the girl in the mirror..."**

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The meeting room echoes as Nessa strides across it. The first meeting with the higher-ups of Munchkinland that she attended on her own two feet had gone remarkably well. The looks in their eyes as they saw her, walking under her own power, is something that she will hang on to. She was powerful before, but now that she can walk, she feels like she has the world at sparkly, jeweled feet.  
  
She pauses for a moment at the large oak table, gathering up her papers, and reflects on the meeting. The munchkinlanders didn't like her new proposition. The curfew that punished all citizens that dared to remain outside after dusk fell. Those munchkins dared to gossip behind her back and shoot dark looks at her, so what did they expect? She just wanted to be able to take her evening walk through the square without having to run the gauntlet.  
  
Papers in hand, Nessa pivots smartly - a skill she has recently polished and enjoys very much - and heads for the hallway that would lead her back outside. The hallway is dim, the lights seem to be at half of their usual brightness. Nessarose ignores this as she begins to traverse the long hallway. As she walks, the image of Boq slips unbidden into her thoughts. After a brief struggle to think about something else, Nessa relents. The patient, sweet munchkin had been everything Nessa had wanted. The only thing holding her back had been that damn chair. Now the chair is gone, but so is Boq. Nessa wonders briefly if she would trade her new freedom for Boq to be returned to her. Her mind echoes with a resounding 'yes' as she pushes open the door and steps into the square.  
  
The first thing she notices about the square is its unusual absence of people. It's only mid afternoon. A tiny smile flickers across her face. Perhaps word of the new curfew travelled fast.  
  
The second thing she notices is how completely still the air seems to be. Not even a hint of a breeze. The air actually feels thicker to her, like she's wading through a pool, almost. She decides to hurry home, before the humidity ruins her carefully piled hair. The dark clouds on the horizon would hopefully bring some change. Anything would be better than this sticky heat.  
  
As she begins her brisk pace down the street, she hears the footsteps of the obligatory guards start up behind her. It isn't safe for the Governess herself to walk Munchkinland's streets alone, but Nessa is sure that she can straighten that out. The wind begins to pick up, bringing another worry for her hair as Nessa thinks of her plans as Governess. All that these Munchkins needed was a real leader. Someone who would really bring out the productivity of the land with strict adherence to the rules. She was just what the doctor ordered.  
  
A dark shadow falls across the pavement in front of her, pulling her from her thoughts. At the same time, she realizes that the footsteps behind her have stopped. As she turns to look behind her, the shadow spreads larger. The guards have disappeared. She raises her chin to look at the sky, only to find the sun blotted out by a big, boxy object, steadily growing larger. Remotely, she realizes that object is falling, towards her. She watches its progress through the sky, and her stomach turns to lead as it strikes her that she can not get out of the way in time. The shadow is already too large.  
  
So Nessarose turns her gaze on the buildings around the square. As her field of vision brushes past the windows, she meets a pair of eyes watching her. Her gaze darting to another window, she meets another. And then another. They were watching her, in her hour of imminent doom. And doing nothing. Nessarose reaches one hand towards the eyes - a plea for help, or a last gesture of defiance, even Nessa herself doesn't know. Then, there is a blinding pain on the top of her skull.  
  
_'Boq? what are you doing here?' There is no form to speak the words, but they are there, just the same. There is no Nessarose to bring the words about, but she is there just the same.  
  
'Shh, Nessa.' The Boq-figure says. 'I'm just here to guide you.'  
  
'Guide me?' The voice that isn't a voice sounds mildly surprised. 'Where?'  
  
'Where doesn't matter.'  
  
And suddenly, where doesn't matter to her. 'Boq? They watched it happen. No one would help me. No one will mourn.'  
  
'Someone will mourn. Elphaba will. And Glinda. No matter how poor a life you think you may have led, everyone touches somebody's life. And as long as you have touched one person in some way, does it really matter who will mourn?'  
  
_ THE END

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AN: I do not own Wicked, Boq, Nessa, or even the random Munchkins.  
  
So this is the end of another fic. I know it's short, and I'm sorry if you wanted more... I just felt that I couldn't draw it out longer without compromising the basic plot. I had set up Nessa's demise, and I had to do it.  
  
That said, thank you to everyone for following this fic. Thank you to my sister, Heather, for sharing my Wicked obsession. Thank you to sweetsaturn for continuing to e-mail, and Lindsay (nancystagerat), I bet this chapter would never have been written without your constant encouragement.  
  
I hope you all liked the story. If you were a fan of my first Wicked fic, "No One Mourns the Wicked, But What About the Good?", my next project is for you. If you haven't read the fic yet, go now! :P It's good and angsty.  
  
Keep an eye out for "There's a Kind of a, Sort of a Cost" and "There's a Couple of Things Get Lost". I will be writing these fics concurrently. They'll be the prequel to my first Wicked fic, mentioned above, from the point of view of Elphaba and Glinda respectively, telling the tale of Elphaba's journey into hiding and Glinda's journey into madness. Check 'em out.  
  
Thanks for reading,  
Love,  
B 


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